Recovering from Injury (Step 2: Anger)

Dear World: I have finally found a use for Limp Bizkit. You are welcome.

WEATHER: Gorgeous.

MILES: 2. Yes, 2.

MILES THIS WEEK: <sigh> 2.

WHERE TO: <headdesk> The treadmill at the Y.

MOOD: THE COMEBACK CONTINUES so BLAMMO!!!!!

ADDITIONAL NOTES:

To recap: Last time, we worked our way through Injury Stage One (Denial), and we are now able to admit that we are injured. Of course, today of all days was the wrong day to be fresh out of denial, for today was the day of the BOSTON MARATHON.

“Hey!” say your well-meaning friends, who care deeply about you and thus are interested in your extracurriculars. “Are you running Boston this year? Good luck!”

And you, in your infinite maturity, for you have worked through Denial, will respond with a jaunty, “Been there, done that!” Or perhaps a shrug and a, “Nawwww. I’m taking the year off.” Or maybe you’re VERY strong and can say, matter-of-factly, “No; I’m injured. Maybe next year!” Semicolon and all! Good for you!

<burst out of nearest door, see happy weekend runners turkey-trotting down the sidewalk>

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!” you say.

Look at these people! Look at them! They overstrike their heels! They carry water bottles on three-mile runs! They have happily run in the same pair of Reeboks since the Clinton Administration! They run in oversized basketball shorts! And despite all this, they will one day be trotting down the road at their 4-mph pace and there will be Deena Kastor herself. “Hey!” Deena will say. “You look vaguely competent! Let me train you!”

<grabs Vibram Five Finger shoe in mouth, swings it back and forth like a puppy throwing a tantrum>

Meanwhile, all your happy Vibram-wearing friends try to set you straight. “Well, you just did it wrong,” they snipe. “You’re supposed to wear them upside down. And only for runs of no longer than 4 meters for the first year. And you need to recite ‘Jabberwocky’ backwards the whole time.”

And then, in the middle of your stockpiling of C-4, in shall walk a friend we shall call Old Bitter Ex-Runner. Old Bitter Ex-Runner will swagger-limp up to you, plop wearily into the nearest rocking chair, and open her flask of what smells suspiciously like Rich and Rare whiskey mixed with Mandarin Orange Gu.

“Listen,” she will say, throwing back a swig. “Running just ruins your body. You hit your maximum mileage. You used it up. Sorry, bitch. Get used to a lifetime of spinning class and power-walking.”

<hyperventilation>

She takes a long, moody drag on a cigarette. “Lemme tell you a little something about disappointment…”

This is usually where you punch her in the head and sprint home. But then halfway into your angersprint home your injured foot/leg/ankle/toe will scream with pain and only make you more pissed, so that by the time you get home you are ready to just FREAK THE HELL OUT on whatever roommate comes within fist-swinging distance, because how are we all INCAPABLE of refilling a Brita pitcher, and IT IS TOTALLY OK THAT I LEAVE my glittery kitten-cross-stitch arts-and-crafts projects strewn across the dining room table, and WHY DO YOU ALL REACT SO POORLY to my screaming fits graaaAAAAAAGH!

2) Punching a pillow — Don’t hate; it actually works, especially when you draw the face of the IDIOT VIBRAM SHOE SALESMAN onto the pillow and make him talk in a little annoying weenie voice: “Ooh look at me! I am selling unorthodox footwear! Lalala!” Or maybe you just go ahead and put some running shorts and a singlet onto that pillow. “Ooh look at me! I’m every runner ever! I am healthy and awesome and am never going to be injured and will run a bajillion marathons, despite the fact that you have trained for your ENTIRE LIFE and you care INFINITELY MORE than I do, because life is not fair and sometimes God is the biggest bitch of them all!” Maybe put a wig onto the pillow. Maybe duct tape your old shoes onto it, for feet. Maybe sing Limp Bizkit’s “Break Stuff” at the top of your lungs while you swing your new pillow-runner-person at a wall. This isn’t getting creepy at all. Good job.

3) Throw yourself into your work. You are a young, beautiful professional! Look at you go! Striding purposefully about, filing reports and promoting teamwork and following up on prioritized workflow and overflowing the current workflowed priorities, exhibiting the “can-do” American spirit! Networking with people you never really liked in college! “Hey, you old sonofabitch!” you say to Cara Danielson, who once at a party told you that your dancing made it look like you were “dry-humping the air, and not very well at that.”

Anyway. “What do you got for me?” you say to Cara.

“______, you old so-and-so!” says Cara. “Things are great over here! My God, has it been four years? We should do lunch, maybe expense a cosmo or two, talk about the old days!”

The mutual loathing is so thick that you could cut it with a plastic McDonald’s coffee stirrer. She is thinking about your filthy dancing. You are thinking about her jawline acne. But you are NOT THINKING ABOUT RUNNING. BOOYAH.

4) Watch the new Britney video — Why? Because BRITNEY IS STILL AMAZING. The song makes you want to do the butt dance. It reminds you of college and makes you want to mix a Karkov-and-Crystal-Light cocktail while you dance all up on a football playerbasketball player keg. Britney is back! Look at her! She’s in fantastic shape! I bet she lifts weights, and does jazzercise, and pilates, and yoga, and runs, and OH GOD BRITNEY GETS TO GO RUNNING, TOO, probably in DIAMOND-ENCRUSTED ADIDAS-ES AND BRAND-NAME SKIVVIES. LIFE IS NOT FAIR AND IT IS NOT EASY, and GOD HELP THE DOUCHE-NOZZLE WHO TELLS YOU THAT THIS IS A BOURGEOIS WHITE-WHINE PROBLEM THIS IS LIFE-AND-DEATH GRAAAAAAAGH.

<collapses into heap of sobs as Britney continues to shake it in that kickass way that only Britney can do>

Congratulations. You have graduated to Stage 3: Mourning. (Can I make this funny? Probably not, unless I involve a gratuitous sex scene or two. And a comedic/awkward/misguided trip to the Y’s Bodypump class.) (Don’t judge.)